


A Portrait, Unedited.

by personaljunkdrawer



Series: La Vie en Rose [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Teen Titans (Animated Series), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon deviates at Spiderman: Far From Home, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fix-It, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Peter Parker, Multi, Non-Chronological, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not Canon Compliant, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Tags will be updated, Villain Quentin Beck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personaljunkdrawer/pseuds/personaljunkdrawer
Summary: Peter wakes in captivity with a heavy, sluggish body and a bright, sharp anger. For Steve, his captain who abandoned them. For Quentin, his ex who deceived him. And for Tony, his hero who left him with nothing but a pair of shades and a target on his back.---This one starts off rough, it gets better quickly. Please read the tags and protect your mental and emotional health. Feel free to email me at personaljunkdrawer@gmail.com if you have questions about the content.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Series: La Vie en Rose [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181153
Comments: 7
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Peach](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511894) by [whatalatte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatalatte/pseuds/whatalatte). 



> Hey! So this is a big one for me. It's emotional. I will update tags and give warnings at the beginning of each chapter. Please mind the tags and protect yourself, reach out with comments and questions. As per usual, vibing encouraged, bullshit will not be tolerated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 1:  
> Referenced past rape, kidnapping, canon-typical violence.

It was no longer the case, when Peter woke up, that for a moment he thought he was at the compound. He was aware, even in his dreams at this point - glaringly so, in some of them - that the compound was gone. As was Steve, and Nat. As was Tony. So it wasn't much of a height to fall from when he woke this time. 

It hadn't quite become so normal to him yet, waking here. He wasn't sure if it'd been a week of a month but it had certainly been at least several days. On the bright - or rather, dim - side, the fluorescent lights above him remained forgiving. He'd hoped that was the case. That they were merely softer bulbs. Not that his senses were fading, dulling back to normal with the sluggish aches that came upon his waking. 

The dispenser gave its systematic beep, before hissing with the acrid mist. It burned at his nose, felt almost like a sneeze coming on. It never quite got out, just itched. At least he could rub his nose now, press the dust from his eyes and push himself up. 

He clutched at his stomach, sharp pain, never got any better. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he wasn't losing his powers. If it hurt just as much every time, he must be healing in between - right?

The wall was cooling, firm against his back. It was something of a help now. He'd hated these walls with a passion the first few...the first while. But now, it was just an irritant. Like the mist. Like the cameras and the speaker. He'd found that it hurt less, his face against the wall, after the mist. The grating bruise in his gut hurt less too. Not so much the sharp pain, lower. That always healed, and it always hurt the next waking. Better or worse.

It was effort, so much effort, to drag the anvil of his misted body to the mat. Always across the room, he always had to make this trek. Much easier on hands and knees than standing, but still. He could nap by the end of it. He looked forward to it, to slipping back into the dark.

He curled onto his side, sliding the thin cotton pants down his hips. Not so bruised today. Healing. That was good. Wasn't any easier, though, breathing through the pain as the tear re-opened. He wished he could yank, just rip them off like a band-aid, and lay on his stomach. But everything was slow, and the effort of just changing his pants had him panting, like a weight on his chest and a marathon sprinted.

The red was bright, he could feel it trickle down the back of his thigh and fall with a drip to the floor. So it hadn't healed yet, not fully. He hoped that was just a marker of time. That it was just a short break from his last face-against-the-wall to this recent waking. He pushed the pants aside with a weighted, loose hand, and slowly worked his way into the fresh pair folded on the mat.

Maybe he would count the stains to mark time, to keep track. Little pools of red at the crotch to see how long it'd been. He held them up, fumbling at the waistband when the dispenser buzzed again, misted.

The door swung open with a mechanical hiss, the footfall of boots entered the room. "Don't bother."

Peter could feel the bile rising.

"Drop 'em, face on the wall, you know the drill."

\---

To be completely honest, the op was going shockingly well. Smooth. Sure, it'd be smoother if Nat was still around, but that kind of thinking was, as his therapist said, _'unproductive'._ To be scathingly honest, the op wouldn't even be necessary if Stark was still around. To be honest to the point of masochism, the op would be over already if Cap was still around. "End of the line" He muttered to himself. "Fuck you."

His muttering alerted the security guard, he'd had enough time to turn to Bucky's grumbles, but only just, as he fell back with ballistic force, against the wall. Bucky pulled the body up by the hair. "This one work, doll?" He asked. 

"Affirmative." The mechanical voice responded over the comms.

He held the marred face up to the screen at the end of the hall, the eyes were still open. Honestly, the guy might still have been alive, technically. But technicalities were none of his concern at the moment. There was a beep and a hiss behind the door before it slid open. "Thanks, pal." He released the hair.

\---

Two wakings ago - was it yesterday? - Previously, it had been Steve. He'd hated those. Those talks about doing what was expected of him, about living up the standards. Always coiled that vice of anxiety so tight behind his sternum. If it wasn't hard enough breathing against the wall, the anxiety didn't help. He knew it was Beck. He knew it was Beck every time, just a different drone and a different scenario. And he'd truly believed the Steve one's to be the worst of them with that predatory voice and vomitous stamina.

Well, he'd thought so. But yester-wake was a new fresh hell, as the mist hissed and the door beeped, and the ghost of Tony Stark came to have him against the wall. He almost felt some sort of blessed when the dark slipped in.

So he sat up with a start, as quickly as he could manage, when the bloodied form of the Winter Soldier stood in the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY, IT GETS BETTER I PROMISE!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a change in Peter's routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 2 warnings
> 
> Canon-typical violence, POV shift denoted by "---"

"No!" Peter's eyes darted to the door, the figure, the camera. "Please, no! No!"

"Peter?" The voice was spot on. He was going to be sick. He shoved himself back, gagging on the wave of pain as he slipped off the mat and landed on the concrete.

"Y-you can - you can do Mr. Stark, I - I - please, don't - please!" The camera, as it always was, remained silent.

"Peter, calm down." The metal arm reached to him. There was a knife strapped to his thigh. He didn't even gag, it just all came up and out. "Peter, you need to calm down."

"I-I'll do Mr. Stark, please, don't, I don't - I'll tell you, I'll find them and tell you, please"

The camera didn't say a damn thing as Bucky rushed, wrapping Peter quickly. If it weren't for the drugs, and the bleeding, and the god-awful pain in his gut, he would've been hopeful at the register he was able to scream. Healthy lungs were good, right?

Except the cold of the knife was against him, and the arms around him were immovable. "I-I don't, please, I'll find them, I - please!"

"Peter, calm down!" Bucky shook him. He spit up again, squirming and gasping between sobs and pleas. "What are you on? What did they give you?" The kid - the kid had caught his fist before. And now he was damn near pliant against him. The kid had bested alien technology at its finest, Bucky'd seen it, and now he was just, just...broken.

"Y'r not re - y'r no- y'r no," Became a garbled mantra as the kid took slowly steadying breaths. 

"What? Okay, we're going." He turned to the door. 

"You're not real, please, I'll tell you, I don't - I'll do S-stark - please." He kicked his legs out, screaming at the camera as Bucky carried him towards the door, nearly slipping on the little red puddle that had fallen from between Peter's thrashing legs.

\---

It was all sleet and wind at the compound, clinging to the outer walls and mucking up the widows, already steam-fogged.

When Bucky came back into the bathroom, Peter was shivering in the corner. He was picking at the stubs left of his nails, shrinking in on himself.

"You can cover. It's okay." Bucky tossed him a towel. Peter flinched as it hit his leg, and bent carefully, wrapping it around his hips.

He eyed Bucky carefully, shifted to the side. Not closer, just a different angle. "You're real?"

Bucky nodded, and carefully set the tweezers onto the counter. He stepped back, pulling himself into the opposite corner, furthest from the door, as Peter approached the tweezers. That was their routine. He picked them up and then made his way carefully over, until he felt sufficiently close and nodded. Bucky held out his flesh arm.

Peter grasped him by the wrist, closing the little teeth on a clump of hair and yanked. Bucky flinched. It helped, quickened the process if Peter could sense some reaction. He investigated the hair slowly. The drones didn't leave behind things like hair, or blood. Beck left his aftermath sometimes, dripping from Peter in a pool of red and white on the concrete. But that was all, aside from a bruise or scrape. The hair was real, and it matched the color of Bucky's brows. He turned the arm over.

"Thursday?" He muttered.

Bucky nodded. The hair from the four previous days had grown back but yesterday's patch was much shorter than the rest of his arm. The cut was gone, from the first day. When Bucky had tried to force him into the bath and Peter'd shattered the mirror, looking around frantically for a camera to plead with. They were far more discreet in the compound than in the godforsaken bunker Bucky had scraped him from.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." Peter pulled. He let him. Let his weight shift. He took a deep breath as Peter pressed the needle nose of the tweezers into his skin, until he drew blood. Drones didn't bleed.

"Okay" He decided finally, dropping the tweezers. "I'm gonna wash. You can...you can check after." 

He'd been healing well so far. Hopefully today would be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH!!!!


End file.
